


The Line

by Yoite



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author's Favorite, Because Love Conquers All, Breaking Up & Making Up, Character Analysis, Dark, Dark!Monroe, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Flashbacks, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Juliette What Juliette, Long, Loss of Control, M/M, Monroe Can Be A Real Bastard, Nick Is Just Trying To Help, Psychological Drama, Rosalee Is Everyone's Best Mate, The Author Regrets Nothing, Timeline What Timeline, Whump, Wolfing Out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4523466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoite/pseuds/Yoite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As soon as Nick entered the lounge he could make out the Blutbad’s shape hunched over on the sofa, an even darker silhouette against the darkness that surrounded him."</p><p>Something terrible happens to Monroe and he goes off the rails, starting to lose his humanity and threatening to abandon his Wieder Blutbad ways completely.. is Nick strong enough to hold the pieces together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not really AU, but also not set at any specific point in the series and Juliette does not exist. There WILL be references to various episodes of the series though. I will let you know in the individual chapters. The title is a reference to the Johnny Cash song.
> 
> !! WARNING !! A lot of bad things happen in this story and I haven't tagged them all, because there's quite a long plot arc and I don't want to reveal all the details of it ;). Be prepared for angsty stuff. Also, in large parts of the story I will depict Monroe a lot darker than we ever get to see him in the series. I understand this might not be for everyone. But dark!Monroe is the reason why I'm writing this story.

"You must make good from evil, as there's nothing else from which to make it."

(R.P.Warren)

The house was still, wrapped in a woolly scarf of dusk and causing Nick to frown as he cut the engine. He’d expected lit-up windows, bright classical music seeping through them, and a hectic Monroe running from room to room, wrapping up the rest of the cleaning and cooking in time for their visitors’ arrival. Instead, the place looked dead, and the bag was heavy in Nick’s hand as he got out of the car.

Maybe Bart and Alice had arrived early, and Monroe had decided to take them someplace in town? That wasn’t the original plan, of course, but Nick could easily imagine the clockmaker trying to delay the inevitable. Today was the day they were going to tell Monroe’s parents. They had started dating just after their annual visit _last_ September, and got away with seeing each other for almost a year without the Blutbad’s family being aware. But both of them knew they couldn’t keep it a secret forever, and Monroe had been so nervous all day he’d even burnt the cake, which was a first.

The detective had quite happily volunteered to make a last-minute trip to the bakery, grateful for the brief time-out as his boyfriend’s agitation was starting to rub off. And Nick had always been the one to say it wouldn’t be all that bad, and hey, at least Blutbaden were tolerant of same-sex relationships, so there was just this tiny little issue of him being a Grimm. But, if it were to go wrong, he would often say to Monroe, at least he was used to handle negative reactions from Wesen: fear, anger, hate, he could deal with all of that calmly and rationally. Of course, he’d not yet been in a situation where he had to tell a couple of Wesen that he’d been sleeping with their son. But that was still a little better than _decapitating_ their son, right? And then Monroe would roll his eyes and express doubts that his parents were into that kind of humour.

But now the Grimm felt more on edge than ever walking towards their bleak, silent house as the last shreds of daylight were dissolving. It had started to rain, just a little, infusing the early autumn air with dampness, and Nick shivered, quickening his pace. They didn’t need a wet cake in addition to the slightly charred one they already had.

He fumbled for his keys, opening the door and stepping into the hallway where the only audible sound was a faint click as the detective switched on the lights.

“Monroe?”

The rest of the ground floor was quiet and dipped in gloom, as if no-one were at home, yet as soon as Nick entered the lounge he could make out the Blutbad’s shape hunched over on the sofa, an even darker silhouette against the darkness that surrounded him.

“Hey, are you..? What are you doing sitting in the -"

He walked across the room and reached for the light switch when Monroe stopped him with just one abrupt syllable, making Nick instantly retract his hand, not so much because of the word itself but because of the dry huskiness in the clockmaker’s voice.

“ _Don’t._ ”

Nick peered into the shadows, trying to discern the expression inside the blackness that was his lover’s face.

“Alright.. are your parents delayed or something?”

There was a silence, only punctured by the ticking of at least a dozen clocks, a sound Nick would find soothing under normal circumstances. But now each tick was pulling at his already strained nerves. Something was very, _very_ wrong.

“They’re not coming”, Monroe finally responded, quietly.

“Okay”, Nick was unknowingly playing with the plastic handles of the bag he was holding, “did you argue?”

That would be no surprise. Monroe only ever spoke favourably of his parents, yet half the time when he spoke _to them_ on the phone they ended up arguing, followed by a few hours of banging doors and general grumpiness until the clockmaker returned to his usual funny, adorable self. Nick always felt bad for him, as, obviously, his parents were never going to fully accept his life choices; but he tried not to get too involved, considering his rather difficult relationship with his _own_ mother.

Maybe, for some reason, Monroe had ended ended up telling them something over the phone, and they decided not to come, and to disown him for good measure, or -

“No.”

It was almost a whisper.

“Well.. that’s good”, the detective tried, cautiously, unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed by this unexpected turn of events. “Then why are they not -"

“They’re dead, Nick.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who left kudos on the first chapter! I will continue this story, even though I realise it's an unusual outset for a Nickroe fic, and not 'classic' slash. But I just love stories where everybody suffers A LOT, but in the end love conquers all. In my previous stories for this pairing I just haven't achieved my desired degree of suffering yet I think ;).

There was nothing at first. Then a dull thud as the bag with the cake hit the floor.

“Wha- ..”

Nick’s ears had picked up all the individual phonemes, muffled as they were, but, somehow, his mind simply refused to string them together, filled to the brim with the earsplitting tick-tock of the damn clocks.

“What do you mean they’re -"

“Car crash, just outside Portland.. you haven’t heard?”

The last of those hoarse words were bitter with reproach, and all of a sudden Nick felt crushed down by guilt, as if he were the one to blame for everything. True, he would usually listen to police radio in the car, even when off duty, just out of interest, and because he loved his job. But this evening he’d been driving in silence, trying to figure out how to best approach the difficult conversation they needed to have with Monroe’s parents, and make sure that no one accidentally killed anyone else in the heat of the moment. And now..

“Oh God, no”, Nick muttered as all the horror of the situation finally started to trickle in. “Oh my God.”

He’d done various seminars on this precise issue, on talking to the bereaved relatives of crime victims, people who had suffered a tragic loss. It was an important part of his job, yet now that it would really, _really_ count for something his head was as empty as his hands and he could not think of a single word to say.

All Nick could do was dash across the room to kneel in front of the dark shape doubled over on the sofa, to wrap his arms around it.

“Monroe..”

And then something happened, so quickly and surprisingly it took Nick several seconds to figure out why he was suddenly on his back, groaning in pain. To realise the Blutbad had pushed him away forcefully enough to make him bang his head on the sharp edge of the coffee table. He was still sprawled out on the carpet in utter shock when Monroe got up and almost instantly disappeared from view.

“Wai-..“

The detective managed to clamber to his feet, dazed but determined, running after him, through the hallway and up the stairs, but not fast enough to stop Monroe from slamming and locking the bedroom door in his face. How many times had they joked about that stupid door bolt after moving into their new house! They’d made plans to take it off, but always got distracted, somehow, well, it _was_ their bedroom door after all. And now, for the very first time, the lock had found its use.

“Monroe? Hey, open up!”

Nick smacked his hand against the door several times, before realising how insensitive that was, and then he started rubbing the solid wood instead, as if trying to make up for the fact he was not able to touch the person on the other side.

“Come on, let me in, please”, he entreated, “I’m sorry, Monroe.. _I’m so sorry_.. this is just.. please let me help!”

Nick pressed his ear to the door, but there was not a sound to be heard, and after what had felt like a whole hour of pleading and waiting he made the reluctant decision to leave the Blutbad be and take the time to deal with his own dismay. He staggered down the stairs, rubbing the painful bump above his temple and trying to calm his bruised feelings which, given the circumstances, were completely inappropriate. And yet, he hadn’t expected Monroe to wilfully hurt him and lock him out of his own bedroom under _any_ circumstances. Well, people grieved in unpredictable ways. That much Nick remembered.

He went back into the lounge, finally switching on the light.. and instantly reaching for his mobile, eyes widened in shock, intending to report a breaking and entering – but then his brain caught up and told him it was no stranger who’d wreaked havoc here. In his job, the detective had to deal with this type of settings at least once a week. Yet he was hopelessly overwhelmed standing in the middle of their demolished living room, glass shards crunching under his feet; the whole carpet littered with dials, little wheels and what he could only assume were other clockwork parts; one of the curtains torn off completely, the other still attached, but shredded beyond recognition; Monroe’s antique wooden chairs scattered around upside down, missing some of their legs; the rest of the furniture dented and scratched, and distinctive claw marks decorating the wallpaper.

For a few moments Nick was frozen to the spot, speechless. Then he let himself sink down onto the floor, leaning against the sofa and pulling out his phone anyway. He still couldn’t wrap his head around all of this. Monroe had only spoken to his parents this morning. They were on holiday in Seattle and were going to borrow a car to drive down to Portland. Maybe there’d been some kind of really unfortunate misunderstanding.

Nick called the station and asked to be put through to the traffic department. Tom was on duty this evening. Not exactly his favourite person in the world, but someone he knew quite well from in-house training days.

“Hey Nick, whassup? I thought you had some important family thing today?”

The detective closed his eyes. Rumour travelled fast in the office.

“Can you do me a favour?”

“Sure.”

“Has there been a crash involving the death of an elderly couple, probably on the -"

“Highway five, yeah, Jeff’s preliminary report just came in, give me a moment..”

“Thanks.”

Nick waited nervously, reaching down and pulling a sharp object from underneath him. It was a little star-shaped pocket watch. He remembered that one. Monroe had given him a half-hour lecture on its history once. It was French. Probably. Nick hadn’t really been listening. He loved to hear Monroe talk enthusiastically about this or that, but the content didn’t matter too much. There were just too many things the clockmaker was passionate about, Nick couldn’t possibly pay close attention to _all_ of them. And now he was inspecting the little metal star in his hand with great care, as if waiting for it to tell him what to say, what to _do_ in order to help its owner. He closed his fist around it when Tom finally found the report and read out the victims’ names. There was no mistake. This was really happening.

“Nick? You still there?”

“Yeah, sorry.. how did they die?”

“Oh, just your typical vehicular manslaughter, you know, nothing exciting.” There was a sickening crunching noise, grating in Nick’s ears; Tom seemed to be biting into an apple and chewing on it as he continued. “Truck didn’t see their car, vics were dead on the spot. Not a pretty sight, Jeff said, but there was enough left to ID them.”

Nick exhaled, slowly and deliberately, only barely managing to stop himself from yelling at the young sergeant. Yet he was well aware he was often discussing cases with Hank and Wu in pretty much the same impassive manner. No cop could do their job whilst constantly remembering that the name in a file used to be someone’s child, or spouse, or parent..

“Anything else in the report?”

“Not much. Truck driver is being brought in as we speak, next of kin has been notified, and -"

“When?”

“Let me check. About thirty minutes ago.”

Nick’s stomach clenched. Those were the thirty minutes he spent cruising around Portland, taking the longest way home that he could think of as he was in no great hurry to get back. And Monroe was here, in the house, all on his own.

“Oh God”, Nick whispered, but, thankfully, Tom did not seem to notice.

“And he – hm, or maybe that’s a ‘she’? You never know with a weird name like ‘Monroe’, right?”

Nick squeezed the watch until its sharp edges were piercing through the skin of his palm – and said nothing.

“Well, anyway, this 'Monroe' person has been informed the bodies will be released tomorrow morning at eleven, when the M.E. is done with them.. and that’s it, really. Why’re you asking? We've already passed it on to Homicide, would you like to know who -".

“Don’t worry. Thanks.”

Nick hung up in a hurry. Another word or eating noise, and he would have to personally drive over to the office on his day off just to punch Tom in the face. Besides, he would have hated for a colleague to hear him cry.

Nick didn’t know Monroe’s parents, of course, he didn’t even know much _about_ them. But that all-encompassing, soul-shattering agony.. _that_ he knew all too well, and was suddenly flooded with the most gruesome memories. Such a horrible way to die. The fact his mother was actually alive did little to alleviate what he’d been through as a child. But, at least, aunt Marie had always been there to comfort him, and now, for reasons he could not even comprehend, he was not allowed to do the same for his own boyfriend. This was completely out of character. The Monroe he knew was prone to _oversharing_  rather than refusing to communicate. And all Nick wanted was to hold him, and take away at least a drop of the pain.

He forced himself to get up, wiping away the tears and rushing to their bedroom door once again in order to apologise for not being there earlier, and beg Monroe to let him in, or at least talk to him. But to no avail.

Finally, he gave up. At some point, Monroe would need the bathroom or some food; neither of them had eaten since breakfast. At some point, he would have to come out.

In the meantime, Nick went to fetch bin bags and a vacuum cleaner. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the explosion of chaos that used to be their living room. They’d only finished decorating a few weeks ago, and now he didn’t even know where to _start_. He sighed and got to work.

* * *

 

Nick woke up because his neck was killing him, and for a little while he had no clue what he was doing here, sleeping leaned against something hard and uncomfortable. Something that turned out to be the bedroom door. Then he remembered. He instantly jumped to his feet, ignoring the soreness in his muscles, and tried the handle once again. The door was still locked. And then it hit him. He must have been in complete shock last night not to consider this possibility.

The detective flew down the stairs, ran out the front door and around the building until he was stood on the wet grass at the rear of their house. It must have rained heavily during the night. His heart sank as his worst suspicions were confirmed: the bedroom window had been thrown wide open, and that kind of height posed no problem to a Blutbad in full woge. Suddenly, Nick regretted he never let Monroe teach him pilates, as he could have done with some breathing techniques to get air into his lungs just about now. Instead, all he got were thoughts, and each was scarier than the last. Of course, in his usual state of mind, Monroe was probably more peaceable and level-headed than most _humans_. But when he got angry, he got  _angry_ , and judging by the current state of the living room, despite Nick's efforts to tidy it last night..

The detective reached into his pocket and clutched his phone. Where was Monroe? What was Monroe doing? He had to go look for Monroe. No, he had to stay home in case Monroe came back. He could put out an APB. No, being apprehended by cops was the last thing Monroe needed right now. This was a crazy idea.

Yet after calling the clockmaker’s phone and finding that it was ringing from inside the bedroom; after waiting restlessly for several hours, with nothing better to do than break open that goddamn door and finally unscrew the bolt lock; after realising it was already midday, calling the morgue and being told that Monroe had not shown his face; after all of that, the APB didn’t seem like such a crazy idea anymore.

As a last, desperate resort Nick decided to call Rosalee. He had been trying to avoid it, as he didn’t feel comfortable telling her before even speaking to Monroe, but now he was relieved to hear her chipper ‘Spice Shop’ greeting. At least,  _some things_ were still as they should be.

“Hey Rosalee.. you haven’t seen Monroe by any chance?”

“No.. what happened?” Instantly, the cheerfulness in Rosalee’s voice was dissipating. “Did you guys _actually fall out_?”

She sounded incredulous. Indeed, Rosalee enjoyed poking light-hearted fun at Nick sometimes, how him and Monroe _never_ seemed to argue about anything more significant than what exact shade of green to paint their new kitchen. Even though they were very different, somehow, they fit into each other really well, personality wise. In other respects, too. Nick clenched his jaw. There was no easy way to say this, so he simply told her.

What followed were the expected expressions of shock and disbelief, and then Rosalee offered to come over, which Nick was grateful for, as he was slowly losing his mind being forced to stay in the house on his own, wondering whether Monroe was doing something terrible that very moment, and using most of his mental resources trying to stop himself from visualising any specific scenarios. The Grimm was about to accept when he heard a key in the lock.

“Rosalee, I think he’s back, gotta go.”

Nick hung up and turned around. He was not mistaken, there were definitely steps in the hallway. Heavy steps.

“Monroe! Thank God, I was so worried, are you -"

Nick’s breath caught as the Blutbad’s shape appeared in the doorway. He had been preparing himself for the worst but, for a few moments, he barely even recognised him, though Monroe was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Only now his waistcoat was hanging down in shreds, his shirt seemed to be missing most of its buttons and the trousers were torn beyond saving. He was covered in dirt and grass head to toe, dripping mud onto the cream carpet, a mess of wet locks plastered over his forehead.

But it was something else that made Nick’s heart freeze in his chest. It was the trace of blood on Monroe’s chin, and at the corner of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, please drop me a comment. Especially if you think something in the way Nick behaves doesn't make sense. (Whereas Monroe's behaviour will be explained in more detail throughout the next couple of chapters.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me ages to update this story! I needed to take a break from it to write some fluffy stuff ;).
> 
> A huge "THANK YOU" to the lovely wolfmetal for beta-ing this chapter and making me feel better about my writing :D.
> 
> There are a couple of references to S1 and early S2, and a tiny reference to S4, but I wouldn't call it a spoiler. Some of the stuff I say about Monroe, his parents and Blutbaden in general is canon, and some is just my personal head canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for me this is a bit of a "fix-it fic", since by now I've given up hope that we'll get to see Monroe's dark side really coming through in the actual series. Which is a pity I think, because, while I love Monroe being all funny and adorable, I think there could be much more depth to his character (and Silas Weir Mitchell would be awesome at acting it out). I want to see what Monroe would be like if he succumbed to the wolf inside him, and whether Nick would still stand by him when he's at his worst.

It took a few torturous moments before Nick could peel his gaze off those red-stained lips and let it slide up to meet Monroe’s eyes. They were looking right at him, almost provocatively, as if challenging him to say it. The Grimm kept staring into that same spot, clenching and unclenching his fists, even as Monroe walked past him. He trusted his lover. Monroe was a good person. _The_ _best_. He did not need to ask him where he’d been. What he’d done.

When he stepped into the kitchen the clockmaker was stood over the sink, washing his face. Nick’s stomach tied itself in knots just looking at the hard curve of his shoulders. He wanted to come closer and put a hand on his back, as if to soak up some of the pain with his palm. He wanted to tell Monroe that he was here, that he loved him.. but the Blutbad just didn’t seem to want to be touched, neither physically nor in any other way. The bump on his temple reminded Nick of that.

“Monroe.. I’m so incredibly sorry, I-.. this is horrible. I don’t even know what to say.”

There was no response, just the splashing of water as it spilled onto the floor. Either Monroe didn’t know either, or he was still not ready to talk.

“Can - .. Can I do something, let me make you something to eat, or - “

“I ate.”

The Blutbad leaned down, letting water run over his neck. Despite Nick’s earlier determination not to ask questions, he couldn’t help it. That chilly feeling in his guts was urging him on.

“What was it?”

He did his very best not to sound reproachful.

“Just a rabbit, Nick. No need to get out the pilliwinks.”

Nick exhaled, feeling his shoulders relax a little. A rabbit. Okay. That was not too bad. It wouldn’t be the first time Monroe lapsed, he reminded himself. There was that one time when Angelina visited Portland. Nick could not forget how incongruously annoyed he’d been to find out about her and Monroe’s night in the woods.

Well, at least this time Monroe had a bloody good reason to slip.

“So, what.. you just ate it raw?”

Despite all the excuses that Nick’s brain was trying to conjure up on Monroe’s behalf he felt somewhat at sea. He didn’t know anything more meaningful to say. The clockmaker shut off the tap and turned around, water dripping down his chin.

“No, Nick, I cooked it”, he rolled his eyes. “In the oven. That was in the forest.”

He grabbed the kitchen towel from its hook and started rubbing his face and hair.

“Okay”, the detective attempted to match that inappropriate sarcasm. “Hope you had some ketchup on you.” Monroe had always been a gallows humour kind of person. Yet Nick remembered how last time the Blutbad had hunted down a rabbit he’d felt awful about it the morning after. And now, he could not detect even a trace of remorse in his lover’s eyes.

He watched in confusion as Monroe threw his towel into the sink and started stripping out of his wet, muddy clothes right where he stood, in the middle of the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to the morgue.”

The clockmaker disappeared up the stairs, leaving a trail of moist footsteps on the laminate, and Nick was left to his own devices, hands lifted in a vague halting gesture. He really needed Monroe to know that he didn’t care about the stupid rabbit. That he only cared about _him_. But he decided not to run after Monroe this time.

He sighed, picking up the heap of dirty fabric that used to be some of Monroe’s favourite clothes. Well, this was only fair. Usually it was the clockmaker complaining that he had to clean after Nick all the time, and that Nick had an infuriating habit of taking off and dropping his smelly socks in the most random places. That the only reason him, Monroe, wasn’t _actually_ infuriated was the fact that Nick was so imminently kissable. Sometimes, Monroe said things that seemed to be taken straight from the pages of a dime novel. And sometimes he said things that Nick wanted to write down and remember forever. But stuff always got in the way. Hands and lips and such.

Nick walked into the utility room and stood in front of the washing machine for a while, eyeing it up, as if he’d never seen such a thing before. He smiled weakly at the memories that outshone the present darkness for a brief moment. Then he went back into the kitchen and threw the ball of rags into the bin. He was inadvertently listening out for any sounds emerging from upstairs, expecting to hear the shower running. But instead Monroe came down only a minute later, wearing a random selection of fresh clothes yet still looking completely dishevelled, which Nick wasn’t used to at all. What he was used to was making fun of his boyfriend for spending twice as much time in the bathroom as himself. At which point the clockmaker would usually pout and remark that Nick had it easy and wasn’t blessed with hair that shared some properties with tumbleweed, and Nick would laugh, and Monroe would chase him around the room, and then they would have to wash and get dressed all over again. Those had been latenesses he could not quite explain to the captain.

Nick attempted a smile that he hoped would look more encouraging than sympathetic.

“Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Monroe shrugged and stepped outside. Well, at least he was reasonable enough to admit he was in no condition to be behind the wheel.

Once they got into the car Nick reached across to fasten his passenger’s seatbelt, as Monroe made no moves to do so himself. It broke his heart to see the clockmaker unresponsive like this, but Nick’s own heart was hardly of concern right now. When he was done with the buckle he lightly placed a hand on Monroe’s shoulder.

“Hey..”, he gave it a gentle squeeze, “.. can I hug you?”

A strange question to ask your lover, yet it proved acutely relevant when Monroe shook his head and shrugged off the detective’s hand.

“Alright.”

Nick leaned back in his own seat, starting the engine, and as he navigated his Land Cruiser through the half-empty streets of a chilly mid-week afternoon he was raking his mind, trying to understand why Monroe was giving him the cold shoulder. Yes, they had been on edge yesterday, understandably, but they had not fallen out. There had not even been a hint of an argument. Not even when Monroe had turned the kitchen into an explosion of smoke. Nick could not for the _life_ of him think of anything he might have done wrong. And he could not ask Monroe the question either. The clockmaker had enough on his plate. Nick waited until they were on the motorway before making another attempt.

“Please, Monroe, don’t shut me out. You need to talk to me. I know exactly what - ..", he stopped himself from saying that he knew how Monroe felt, that would have been just some hackneyed phrase, and a lie. “.. I know it helps to talk. I’ve taken the rest of the week off, I know I can’t make it better, but I’m here for you, whatever you need. You’re not alone in this, okay?”

There was no response. Nick glanced across to his passenger, but all he got to see was a mess of damp curls. Monroe was looking out of the window and Nick was desperately trying to think of something else he could say to show that he cared when the Blutbad finally spoke, almost too quietly to be heard.

“It’s my fault.”

“Huh?”

Nick wasn’t sure if he misheard, until Monroe repeated, a little louder.

“It’s my fault.”

Nick had not misheard.

“What? What are you saying, how can it be your fault? You weren’t even there.”

“Exactly.”

There was a gut-wrenching, jarring noise. The Grimm flipped his head to the side to find that Monroe’s claws were out and dragging across the window pane.

“Monroe, please -"

He gritted his teeth.

“It’s really not your fault. It was an _accident_. You are not -"

“I moved away”, Monroe interrupted him. There was a dry, hollow ring to his voice, not much easier on the ear than the sound his claws were producing. “It would never have happened if I hadn’t moved so far away. My mother begged me not to leave the pack. And I still did. Because I was so arrogant. Because I thought I was different..”

Nick could only inspect the back of Monroe’s head in astonishment – until they approached their exit and he needed to focus on the road for a while. The last thing they needed was getting into an accident themselves. How ironic would that be.

At a time like this, Nick was painfully aware how little he actually knew about his lover’s past, the time before his reformation. He remembered Monroe grew up in New Hampshire, which was about as far from Oregon as you could possibly go. He also knew a range of random anecdotes from Monroe’s childhood and teens. And that was it. They seemed to have a tacit agreement to keep it that way. Monroe rarely talked about the years before Portland and Nick rarely asked. It was dangerous ground, it could affect what they shared in the present. The less Nick was aware of, the better.

But it also meant he didn’t know the right thing to say in this awful, _awful_ situation, and in the end he had no choice but to resort to platitudes.

“I’m sure your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to think like that and blame yourself, Monroe.” Nick was hoping these simple words would transport the genuine emotion he felt. “I’m sure they wanted you to be happy here in Port-“

“What do _you_ know about my parents!”, the Blutbad snarled. The sudden change in volume was so drastic and unexpected Nick jumped in his seat, clenching the steering wheel.

“Whoa, hey, I’m just -"

“Well, I’ll tell you _one_ thing they definitely wouldn’t’ve wanted!”

Monroe cut him off once again, in a completely uncharacteristic manner.

“Me _fucking_ you and being a Grimm’s _lapdog_! That’s what.”

Nick’s lips parted for a gasp, but there was no air to breathe in. The unprovoked rage in the Blutbad’s voice had incinerated all the oxygen around him. On an impulse, Nick pushed the brake and they stopped dead in the middle of the road. Thankfully there was no one behind them. The detective turned around to stare at his passenger in utter shock. He’d never even heard Monroe use this kind of language before. Outside of bed, that is. In bed, it was pretty hot, and now it burned him too, in an entirely different way. Things were serious between them. The ‘we bought a house together’ kind of serious. He could not believe Monroe had said those words.

“So that’s what it’s all about”, Nick muttered. “That’s why you’re being like this with me.”

He was so hurt he almost made a snarky remark how him being a Grimm had never bothered Monroe before, while his parents were actually in a condition to care, that is, a little more _alive_. And that the Blutbad’s romantic choices were hardly the only reason he’d been a bit of a disappointment to his family. Then Nick gave himself a mental slap for even _thinking_ that. Monroe was obviously distraught and had no idea what he was saying. Nick knew how much they both meant to each other, he had to hold on to that.

A car turned into the road a couple of yards behind them and the Grimm forced himself to drive the last couple of minutes to the hospital where the morgue was located.

“No, they wouldn’t have liked that”, he finally agreed, as calmly as he could. “And still, you wanted to tell them. My mother wouldn’t approve either. We knew that from the start. We decided we’re okay with that, because we wanted to be together. Nothing has changed.. has it?”

He parked in front of their destination and was about to undo his belt when Monroe stopped him.

“I’m going on my own.”

A second later the passenger door was slammed shut with far more force than necessary and Nick leaned back into the headrest, rubbing his eyelids. He was not unhappy to stay behind, being in dire need of a break. The detective was at a loss – and that didn’t happen to him very often, neither in his professional nor his private life. He peeked at the radio screen as he switched on a music channel. It was one o’clock.

Yesterday at one o’clock Monroe was getting on his nerves asking him to taste the meat dishes he was preparing every fifteen minutes or so. But Nick didn’t mind too much. He was still feeling all warm inside, both in the literal and the metaphorical senses. They had not quite managed to eat lunch on their lunch break, it happened sometimes. And yesterday they had both needed the reassurance. This difficult get-together was all Monroe’s idea. Nick would have been happy to simply stay away while Monroe’s parents visited, maybe ask Rosalee to put him up. Well, not exactly  _happy_. A week was a long time not to see each other. But _prepared_ , if it helped to avoid all the potential drama. However, Monroe said no, he didn’t want to keep lying. He didn’t feel like gathering all of Nick’s possessions from around the house and hide them in the attic for a week. He was bound to miss something. Nor did he feel like sleeping on his own. Or answering endless questions as to when he would finally find himself a partner, and wasn’t it about time, at his age? Monroe did an impersonation of his mother’s concerned voice and Nick thought it was hilarious, despite having no idea what his mother actually sounded like. He knew they would be alright.

And now.. he wasn’t sure about anything at all.

He was lost in thought when Monroe came back, sooner than expected. Nick instantly switched off the music and looked over to his lover. He was surprised by what he found on Monroe’s face. Or, to be precise, by what he did _not_ find there. He wouldn’t say that the clockmaker was _prone_ to tears, but it certainly didn’t take too much to get him all emotional. Monroe would even cry at the end of Casablanca. But now the Blutbad’s eyes were dry and his usually so lively features were just a mask. Seeing him like this made Nick forget the way Monroe had spoken to him earlier.

“Are you alright?”

There was a slight nod. Nick bit his lip. He’d seen his fair share of traffic deaths, he knew how horrific that was. Whether Monroe wanted to or not, he simply couldn’t help reaching across to press his face into the Blutbad’s shoulder, whispering a disorderly array of meaningful words. This time Monroe did not push him away. In fact, he did not move at all. Nick wasn’t sure if that was progress or not. But feeling Monroe’s heartbeat reassured him a little. He carefully leaned away and turned the key in the ignition.

“I’ll drive us home, okay? Then we can talk..”

At least he had a pretty good understanding of all the formalities that were involved. At least he could help with the all the practical stuff.

“No.”

Nick flicked his passenger a nervous glance.

“Where you wanna go?”

“To the precinct.”

“Huh?”

“I want to see the motherfucker who did this”, the Blutbad growled.

Another term that Nick was not aware was part of Monroe’s vocabulary.

“I’m sorry.. he’s not there anymore.”

“Where is he?”

Nick could feel the rubbery material of the steering wheel give in underneath his fingertips. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“He was released on bail this morn-”

“ _What_?!”

The Grimm pulled his head as far in between his shoulders as it would go, as if to protect his eardrums.

“I’m really sorry, ’Roe”, he bit his lip even harder, hoping to stay on the right side of the line between patient and patronising. “They had no choice, there’s no risk of repeat offence here, his whole family’s in Portland, he’s got three kids, so they took his license, and now we just need to wait for the trial.” He paused, running out of breath. “He can’t leave town, he won’t get away. I promise you that. Okay?”

“How do you know it was an accident?” Monroe snapped back, very obviously not okay. “Were you there? Have you even spoken to the bastard? How’d you know he’s not a Bauernschwein? How’d you know he didn’t murder them?”

“Uh”, Nick frowned. “Even so, how would he have known your parents were Blutbaden?"

“Well, what do _I_ know, Nick? Am _I_ the cop? Is that _my_ job? I don’t know! Maybe they woged in the car and he saw them! Maybe when they rented the car someone saw them and called their mate, or -”

Nick was listening to this continuing outpour with mounting consternation. Monroe was normally an admirably grounded individual. Not one to spin conspiracy theories. At some point, the detective had to stop him. He just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Look. You can read the report yourself when we get home. I printed it out for you. This guy was crying and shaking all through the interrogation. He’s a complete mess. He’s gonna need counselling now. There was no purpose behind this, Monroe, it was an _accident_ , a tragic, _tragic_ ..”

“Alright.”

Nick exhaled. Finally, Monroe was going to see some reason, finally -

“Get me his address then.”

The Blutbad was about as far from reason as a wolf was from eating a carrot. Nick missed his turning, too busy staring at his newly crazed lover.

“Are you nuts?!”

“Get me his address!”

“Monroe!” Nick whipped his head back around to face the road, he almost forgot he was driving, though by now he had no idea where. “I can’t do that!”

“Stop fucking with me, Nick!” Monroe barked. “Of course you can!”

The raw timbre of his voice was telling the detective he was in full woge.

“But I won’t!” Nick yelled back, finally losing his poise. “Are you out of your fucking mind? What’d you want with that! You wanna _kill_ him, is that it? Is that the kind of thing we’re doing now?!”

There were a few moments of silence as they were both catching their breath. Nick was staring at the road in front of him. They really needed to make a U-turn, but he just didn’t have the headspace to try and figure out how to best get to the motorway from here.

“You had your revenge.” Monroe spoke again, calmer, his tone bleak like the random streets they were driving through. “The guys responsible for your father’s accident, they’re dead. All _four_ of them.”

Nick was thinking he almost preferred the shouting. Deep down, he had feared the Blutbad would say something like that.

“It wasn’t _me_ who killed them, Monroe. You _know_ that.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause someone else got there first.”

“Those were completely different circumstances, my father was _actually_ -"

“Of course”, Monroe gave a bitter chuckle, “this time, it’s just a couple of Wesen who died. You should be pleased, being a Grimm..”

“ _What_?! That’s not at all what -"

“You said you would help me, whatever I need!”

“Yes, but -“

“I thought you _love_ me.”

“Oh for God’s sake!” Nick burst out. “ _Of course_ I love you, that’s _exactly_ why I don’t feel like visiting you in jail for the rest of our lives! You don’t even know what you’re _saying_ right now, you’re not yourself! Please, _please_ , can we just go home and -"

“Stop the car.”

“Huh?”

They had just turned into a broader and busier road. There was nowhere to park.

“I can’t bear listening to your self-righteous crap any longer!”

“Wha _-_ ”

“ _Stop the goddamn car_!”

Monroe was already ripping off his seatbelt and the detective managed to slow down just in time as his passenger jumped out of the rolling vehicle, causing a whole symphony of honking and beeping as he carelessly walked across the road. Nick frantically pulled at his own belt but there was a bus approaching the stop where he halted and he had no choice but to drive on. When he finally managed to find a place to park, a little further down the road, the traffic was flowing as usual and Monroe was nowhere to be seen.

“Fuck!” Nick whacked the steering wheel in exasperation, startling a couple of young girls walking by. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!”

He slammed his forehead against it for good measure. Just what he needed. A manic Blutbad running around Portland. A Blutbad who happened to be his boyfriend, his perfectly well-mannered, thoughtful, unflappable pacifist of a boyfriend. Surely that wasn’t him in the car just now. Surely, someone had exchanged _his_ Monroe for some kind of Verfuchter Zwillingsbruder. Nick could not even begin to process all of this. His head was bursting at the seams he never knew were there.

He leaned back, dialling Rosalee’s number. The Fuchsbau told him to come round even before he was done with the greeting. He must have sounded like a right mess.

Rosalee closed up the shop when Nick arrived, and then they both went to the back and she made him a cup of tea and some sandwiches, which he was grateful for. Monroe might have dined on a rabbit last night, but Nick was positively starving.

He told Rosalee everything. As much as that was possible, considering he had no idea what was going on. Nick had seen grief before, almost on a daily basis, but this was just.. something else.

“I don’t get it”, he shook his head, one of many times. “This is crazy. Is he resenting me for being a Grimm now? Where is that even _coming_ from?”

Of course, everyone knew that Blutbaden and Grimms were supposed to be mortal enemies. But Monroe wasn’t that kind of Blutbad. And Nick wasn’t that kind of Grimm. Though he was aware that some of Monroe’s ancestors had been killed by some of _his_ ancestors, and Monroe did like to tease him with his their head-chopping habits at times, but it was always light-hearted. When Monroe once remarked that they were ‘like the Romeo and Juliet of the Wesen world’ they both laughed. They didn’t care about labels, they didn’t care what the reapers or anybody else had to say on the subject of their relationship. And when they were lying in bed two nights ago Monroe said he didn’t care if his parents would hate him for it. Because Nick was all that he cared about. That’s what Monroe had said. And now..

 “.. I don’t know what to do”, the detective muttered. “Shouldn’t this be a time for us to stick together? But it’s not, it’s like he doesn’t even want to _know_ me anymore. How can a thing like that even _happen_? I mean, twenty-four hours ago, everything was great, well, as great as waiting to meet the in-laws can get, I guess, but we were fine. And..”, Nick paused for a moment, “I know this is a horrible thing to say, but Monroe wasn’t even that _close_ to his ‘rents, you know? He only saw them, what, once a year? They seemed to argue most of the time.. nothing makes sense to me, Rosalee.”

He glanced at her, hoping to find answers in the Fuchsbau’s eyes. She’d been watching him with that concerned, sympathetic and at times alarmed expression while he was talking. And now she finally spoke, calmly and gently.

“You know, Nick, out of all the Wesen I know or heard about, Blutbaden family ties are naturally the strongest. Don’t underestimate that.”

“No, of course not! That’s not what I meant to say..”

“It’s very rare for a Blutbad to move so far away from home and keep a distance from his own kind, to live outside the pack.. it’s a big deal.”

 _But we’re Monroe’s pack!_ , Nick wanted to exclaim, but held back. He knew that wasn’t what Rosalee was talking about.

“I know”, he simply said.

But truth was, he didn’t know. They never talked about these things. Nick didn’t give much thought to what _exactly_ it meant for Monroe to be a Wieder Blutbad. The day they met, Monroe told him it meant he was good and didn’t kill, and that was all that Nick needed to know, really. His life was complex enough as it was, thank you very much. Most of the time, he didn’t consciously think of his boyfriend as being a _different species_. Unless, of course, he needed a Blutbad’s nose or a Blutbad’s claws – or a Blutbad’s hungry eyes devouring his naked body. Then it could come in handy.

“I know”, Nick sighed, “but Monroe always seems so centred and at peace with himself.. doesn’t he? Isn’t there some really strange irony in this? While his parents were alive he tried to be as different from them as he could. And now they’re dead he’s suddenly channelling his inner Blutbad – or should I say _arsehole_ ”, he grumbled under his breath, “I didn’t even know Monroe _had_ an inner arsehole.. our Monroe! It’s like someone’s just switched out his personality, all the things he said to me, and running off like that, he almost got himself killed, it’s just..”

“There’s no excuse for it Nick”, Rosalee agreed, “but.. I think I can understand.”

“Yeah?”

“Well.. when your parents are alive it’s not such a great deal to get out of line, I guess, because there’s always a chance you can make it up to them one day, somehow, or maybe make them understand.. but now, Monroe will have to live with their disapproval for the rest of his life, knowing he isn’t quite what they’d expected. It’s not an easy thing to do..”

“So what”, Nick frowned, “you’re saying he’s in some kind of identity crisis?”

“Sounds like it. He must be feeling quite uprooted. He doesn’t have any close relatives left, not even a sibling, which is really unusual for us canid Wesen. I mean, he did have his twin sister, but she died at birth, so -"

“What?” Nick mumbled. “Monroe was a twin?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No.”

He looked away, embarrassed. How did he not know such a basic fact about his own boyfriend?

“Well, don’t worry about it”, Rosalee reassured him, “when Wesen meet there’s always family talk, you know?”

It hardly surprised him. There had always been a certain level of understanding between Monroe and Rosalee that, being a human, he was excluded from. But Nick was not the jealous type. He was glad Rosalee was such a good friend, to both of them. She was kind and wise and always one to sympathise first and criticise later, if at all. Yet every single word struck a nerve with him, and the next thing she said stung him even deeper.

“It’s understandable he’s dwelling on his heritage. And by now, he’s probably resigned himself to the idea he’ll never have children, so he’ll be the last in his bloodline.”

Nick wasn’t even sure how that made him _feel_ , let alone what to say to that.

“What should I do, Rosalee?” He drew a hand across his forehead. “How can I help? I mean, I can’t just let Monroe go off and _kill_ someone, as some kind of crazy-ass atonement!”

“No, of course not”, Rosalee was quick to agree, looking increasingly anxious. “I want to talk to him.”

“I think you should – but first I need to _find_ him!”

At a moment’s notice, Nick jumped from his chair with renewed urgency and grabbed his jacket, driven by the expression on Rosalee’s face.

“I really shouldn’t be sitting around here, I have to go look..”

Monroe had a couple of favourite spots around Portland that Nick knew of. First he would check out that little glade in Macleay Park. Monroe insisted that all the trees there had faces. He’d given them all a name.

“Look, thanks for the tea, I’ll call you as soon as I -"

Coincidentally, he was at this exact moment interrupted by his phone. He pulled it out. He was so eager to answer he almost hung up by mistake.

“Monroe..”

“ _Where are you_?”, a familiar voice hissed down the line. Actually, it didn’t feel very familiar at all. The Blutbad had some nerve, asking _him_ that! But Nick was so happy about the call he hardly cared.

“At the Spice Shop.. are you back?”

There was a moment of almost complete silence. Nick thought he could detect a low grumble. But he wasn’t sure.

“Yes.”

The detective exhaled in relief.

“Want me to come home?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll bring Rosalee along, she -"

“ _No_!”

Nick flinched, holding the phone a little further away from his ear.

“Listen, Monroe, you should talk to Rosalee, it.."

There was nothing but a beeping noise in response. Nick gave a sigh that came from the very bottom of his stomach.

“He said he doesn’t..”

“I know”, the Fuchsbau stopped him, softly. “That was loud enough. Maybe I should come anyway.”

“No”, Nick shook his head, “let me see how he is first, then I’ll call you.”

He had no idea why Monroe didn’t want to see Rosalee, they were so close. But, finally, his boyfriend actually wanted him there, and he would not do anything to jeopardise that.

Rosalee followed him to the front door, stopping him just as he was about to step out.

“Nick, this..”, her brows were knitted together in a deep frown, “.. it reminds me of.. _something_ , but I’m not sure what yet.. I will look into it, I promise. I’ll be here whenever you need me. You or Monroe. I just hope he’ll be okay.”

Nick studied her face. There was something she wasn't telling him, but as much as he wanted to ask her about it, he also wanted to be with Monroe as soon as he could. That had to take priority over anything else.

On his drive back home, Nick was being eaten up by worry and hurt and guilt to the point that he had to wonder if there would be anything left of him. He would usually talk to Monroe whenever he had a problem. And now _Monroe_ was the problem. Nick hated not to know what to expect. He quite enjoyed the fact that, normally, his private life was the exact opposite of work – pleasant and well-ordered. It did not take too long for Monroe’s routines to rub off. Monroe was the one fixed parameter in Nick’s day-to-day existence, the pillar he could lean on. The clockmaker took such good care of him. He cooked him dinner and translated his books, washed his clothes and tracked bad guys for him, and made him come in ways that let him forget his name. Nick was relying on all of that quite significantly. But there had never been anything _forced_ about it, they both enjoyed this kind of dynamic. Monroe was not a _lap dog_. If anything, he was a _lap wolf_ , maybe..

Nick almost jumped a traffic light. It was bright red, like the Blutbad’s mouth this morning. Now that it was _his_ turn to take care of his lover, he had no idea how. Monroe had always been admirably self-sufficient. Maybe Nick had indeed been spoilt in this relationship. Maybe he didn’t take enough interest in Monroe _as a person_ , as opposed to _his partner_. It never even occurred to him to wonder how Monroe felt on the topic of kids. And other topics, too. There had never been an opportunity. The clockmaker was always joking around or entertaining him with random factoids he got from God knows where. They also talked about Nick’s cases a lot.

The detective parked in the driveway, and as he was walking up to their house he promised himself they would get through this, somehow, and then he would learn to be a better -

The moment he stepped onto the porch the door was flung wide open, he was being violently pulled inside, dragged through the hallway by his collar, and before he could even get a grasp on what was happening there was a dull pain in his back as he was being hurled against one of the kitchen counters.

“Ow!” Nick straightened up, instinctively adapting a defensive stance. “The hell, Monroe?”

“What did you see Rosalee for?”

The Blutbad was glowering at him, wild-eyed. Nick could not ignore the movement in his face, like bugs crawling under his skin. For the first time since the day they met he was actually a little scared of Monroe.

“What do you think?” He snapped, pulling at his shirt to get it back into shape. He was sick to death of fighting, he’d really hoped they would make up. “I spoke to her, about you! Do you have any idea how -"

“Are you _fucking_ her?”

Nick’s hands froze right where they were, tugging at his collar.

He wasn’t just _speechless_. He was dumbfounded to the point he could almost feel his brain shutting down and refusing to be any part of this. It threw him right back to the very beginning of their relationship, that one single time they needed to have a serious conversation and Monroe admitted, a little sheepishly, that Blutbaden were jealous and possessive by nature and it wasn’t an easy thing to switch off. Yet he did manage to get himself under control pretty quickly, since Nick made it clear that if he didn’t there would be no one left for him to be possessive _of_. But even back then, it wasn't nearly as bad, as ridiculous. Rosalee was their _friend_!

“Are you _insane_?” Nick bit out in what was more of a gasp than an orderly array of syllables. “Have you gone completely, _completely_.."

He still failed to find the right words that would convey his meaning strongly enough. And then, a moment later, he didn’t need to worry about words any longer.

Monroe had crossed the short distance between them and punched him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yup, Monroe is going crazy. Please review :) reviews are the writer's chocolate cake!
> 
> P.S.: There WILL be a more specific explanation for Monroe's behaviour at a later point. I'm sorry if this story is a bit of a slow burner.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay, finally a new chapter!! Sorry I took ages to update, but to make up for it this chapter is looooong and the best one so far (I think) - and has some random smut in it :). As of now this story is rated "explicit" and I added a few tags. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Many heartfelt thanks to wolfmetal for beta-ing this chapter and general awesomeness <3.
> 
> Also thanks to everyone who left kudos, this is my favourite of all the stories I've written for this fandom so far so it does mean a lot to me if somebody else likes it :).

Oh Heaven, Oh Heaven

I wake with good intentions,

But the day, it always lasts too long,

Then I’m gone.

 (Emeli Sandé)

 

Nick’s brain was doing this funny little thing. It was telling him there was a small crack in the laminate, right there, by his right foot, he’d never noticed it before, but now that his face was tilted downwards and to the side he could see it clearly. He was staring right into that little line of blackness. He was noticing every tiny bit of dirt that was caught in it. For a moment, his brain simply refused to tell him that Monroe had hit him and called him a fucking liar.

But then the next moment came and Nick’s self-preservation instincts kicked in with a bang. Before he knew it he was hitting back as hard as he could, which turned out to be pretty hard. The clockmaker stumbled backwards, bumping into the breakfast bar and sliding down until he was sat on the floor, holding his jaw, and for a brief second there Nick could see a glimpse of the Monroe he knew on that literally gobsmacked face. Then his vision went blurry. His first impulse was to walk away. Maybe forever. But at least for now. Yet he couldn’t leave Monroe in this situation. He just couldn’t.

“Fucking get a grip!” He shook out his hand and went upstairs.

As soon as Nick was in his room he closed the door and leaned against it, furiously rubbing at his eyes. He would not cry. Unlike Monroe, he barely ever cried at all. Yet this was already the second time in not even a whole day, and all because of that prick. Nick sucked on his throbbing knuckles. He paced the room for half a minute. Finally, he let himself sink down onto the sofa. It was the only piece of furniture in here. This house they’d bought was pretty big, so they both had their own rooms, plus a couple of spares, but Nick hardly ever used his. There were still boxes in a corner that he couldn’t be bothered unpacking. Whereas Monroe had turned his own room into a cave of wonders of some sorts. It screamed his name loud and clear. It contained shelves upon shelves of stuff that Nick had banned him from putting up in their shared living space. Like that goddamn ugly talking gnome Monroe insisted was a Silesian rarity from the whatever-teenth century. Nick, in turn, insisted there was a good reason why it was a rarity. The clockmaker was also doing some of his repairs in there. Sometimes, Nick would sit in that huge leather armchair in ‘the cave’ and read a book whilst Monroe was working. Or, rather, _browse_ a book. He wasn’t a big reader. He always ended up watching his lover anyway. Nick still failed to comprehend how those big, hairy hands managed to carry out all of those tiny little movements with such care and precision. Monroe put so much love and dedication into all that he did, and as a bonus he looked hot as hell in those freaky glasses. It was better than anything that came on TV.

Nick pulled up his legs and leaned sideways until he was laid down with his head on the armrest and his arms hugging his knees. It shouldn’t be hurting so badly, he tried to convince himself. He was used to being punched, in his job. And his _other_ job too, the one that came without comprehensive health coverage. Somehow, a lot of Wesen seemed a little sensitive about his ancestors putting an axe into everything that moved and woged. But Monroe had reassured him he looked sublimely masculine with bruises and scratch marks all over his face, and while Nick wasn’t one hundred percent sure what ‘sublimely’ meant _exactly_ he assumed it wasn’t bad. He really wasn’t too bothered by someone trying to hit him, kick him and even bite him on a regular basis. And, clearly, Monroe had not intended to hurt him too badly. It was the kind of punch that was simply making a point. Though that was worse, in a way. In every way. Yet, to his surprise, Nick wasn’t _angry_. All he wanted was to get his Monroe back, _his_ Monroe, who would never hurt him, who was prepared to defend him with his last breath if anyone else tried to, though the detective insisted that he stayed out of physical fights whenever possible..

Nick had no concept of whether he spent minutes or hours lying there, breathing in and out and not much else. Time eluded him, a rare occurrence in their house. In the end, a soft knock pulled him out of his mental slumber, followed by the sound of his name, and as quiet and cautious as that was it still made him jump a little. His insides clamped at the mere thought of opening that door, and Nick hated, _hated_ to feel this way about Monroe. Still, he forced himself up. If he weren’t prepared to talk he might have as well grabbed a suitcase and left.

At least, when Nick opened the door and looked into his boyfriend’s face it was finally displaying some adequate emotions rather than sheer madness, or, even worse, nothing. Monroe was radiating guilt and embarrassment out of every pore.

“I’m sorry”, he mumbled as soon as their eyes met, instantly averting his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Nick.. I didn’t _mean_ to, I don’t even.. I know ‘sorry’ is not enough..”

“Yeah, no shit!” Nick barked, giving himself a hard surface, yet on the inside he was crumbling. The pain in Monroe’s voice was eating through him like acid. He couldn’t even bring himself to shout at him some more. It felt like kicking a wounded puppy.

He exhaled in a loud huff and also looked to the side, nervously running a hand through his hair. He had no idea where to go from here.

“Something is happening to me”, Monroe whispered, “something is.. oh God..”

Nick’s gaze shot back to the clockmaker who was staring down at his hands. He followed that dismayed stare. Monroe's hands were moving, yet seemingly without his intent. They were fluctuating between human digits and claws, back and forth, almost in a blur. Nick had never seen anything like it before.

“Stop it!”

“I can’t!”

On an impulse, Nick grabbed them and held them still.

“What the hell is this, Monroe?”

He squeezed them as hard as he could until they finally stopped quivering and remained finger-shaped in his hands.

“What’s going on, talk to me, for God’s sake!”

“I don’t -..”, Monroe gave a barely noticeable shake of his curly head, “.. I just..”

There he was, the most eloquent person the Grimm had ever come across, reduced to a mere handful of syllables. Without a coherent thought on his mind Nick let go of Monroe’s hands and leaned in, slinging both arms around his tall frame. And almost instantly the clockmaker was responding in like.

There was something deliciously bittersweet about this, being wrapped so tightly into each other after the horrible things that preceded. It made Nick feel all raw under his skin. It wasn’t _comfortable_ – yet more comforting than he would have expected. He could feel Monroe’s nose in his neck, lips lightly touching his skin.

“Forgive me.. please.. I think I need help..”

“I know..”, Nick was gently stroking his lover’s hair that was all tangled-up and brushy underneath his fingertips, not as soft as usual. “Everything will be alright.. I promise.”

He was trying to reassure Monroe and _himself_ in equal measures. Nick honestly had no clue how to make everything alright, he needed Monroe to tell him what to do to help, but that seemed like a lost cause right now. Right now, the Blutbad was simply clinging to him with all the headless urgency of a drowning man. It felt good though, to be that straw, it eased the hurt he had chosen to swallow a little.

“Don’t leave me..”

“I won’t..”, the Grimm dared an unsure smile against Monroe’s plaid-clad shoulder. “Though, you know, back in the car, it almost sounded like you couldn’t care less if I left.”

“In the car?”

A cold shiver started crawling down Nick’s spine. He lost the smile and pulled out of the embrace, just a little.

“Yes, in the car, when we drove to the m-.. hospital, remember?”

Monroe gazed at him blankly for a second. And then another second.

“Yeah, sure. I know”, he finally attempted, cautiously intonating each word. Slowly, though, that lost expression on his face was giving way to a sincerity that momentarily melted Nick’s doubts. “Of course I care, Nick, you’re all I have. I’m so sorry.”

The detective had needed to hear something like that so very badly. He freed one hand from where it was stuck underneath Monroe’s arm and brought it up to stroke his cheek.

“I’m sorry too.”

There was an angry, purplish bruise glowing on the clockmaker’s jaw. Nick realised he hit him much harder than he’d been hit himself.

“Come on, let’s put some ice on that.” And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he added: “I’ll run you a bath, too.”

He felt a tiny bit embarrassed having to suggest it, but as much as he tried to ignore that stupid little detail he just couldn’t help noticing Monroe’s smell. It was different from his usual scent that Nick adored. Monroe was the only person he’d ever met who didn’t use any perfumed products, even his shampoo and shower gel didn’t smell like anything at all. The Blutbad hated artificial fragrance on his skin, it gave his nose a headache, he said. And that was quite a welcome change from being around Hank all day who seemed to have a habit of bathing in cologne. Though, before he’d met Monroe, Nick couldn’t have imagined that a guy’s natural scent could be so attractive. Well, there were many things Nick couldn’t have imagined before he’d met Monroe. Monroe smelled like dark, salted caramel – if caramel grew on trees..

Yet now there was nothing pleasant about his smell, it was raw and musky, somehow, it even reminded Nick of wet fur. The Blutbad had been running through the forest all night, he was in clear need of a wash.

But first they returned downstairs and Nick told Monroe to go sit on the sofa while he grabbed a bag of peas from the freezer and wrapped it into a kitchen towel. Back in the living room, he carefully pressed it against the swelling on his lover’s jaw, taking Monroe’s hand to position it on top of the compress and asking him to hold it in place while he went to run that bath. The clockmaker obeyed without a word. Nick decided he did not like this quiet, unresponsive Monroe any better than the violent, psychotic one. It was the second time his personality had changed in just a couple of hours. ‘Unresponsive’ was the last word anyone would have chosen to describe Monroe under normal circumstances. At times, he was maybe a little bit _too_ responsive for Nick’s taste, getting all excited over the tiniest things, like a little child, well, it was adorable in its own way.. Nick winced. He’d burnt his fingers, carelessly holding them under the hot tap as he was adjusting the temperature.

When he came back into the lounge Monroe was sitting in the exact same position the detective had left him in.

“Nick?”

Nick perched on the sofa next to him, cautiously wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders.

“Mmh?”

He was pretty sure that whatever Monroe had to say would not succeed in shocking or disturbing him any longer, that he was prepared for anything. How wrong he was.

“Nick, where are my parents, shouldn’t they have been here by now?”

The clockmaker turned to look at him with that heartbreakingly confused face, towel still pressed to his cheek.

“Eh..?”

Nick gaped back, open-mouthed.

“Uh..”

He was yet to find a fitting response when a sudden spark of realisation hit those brown eyes and Monroe shook his head, letting the home-made ice pack slide onto the floor.

“Of course.. they died.. sorry, man..”

He leaned forward, dropping his head into both hands. Nick was staring at it in wordless stupefaction. That beautiful head was brimful of knowledge, though only parts of it were useful to anyone but himself. The Monroe he knew had an amazing memory. Sometimes, when he was feeling melancholy, he would play his cello for hours without even looking at the music. He could list and explain all train engine types, past and present, in chronological order. He would quite happily give a comprehensive lecture on stamps in the Third Reich, if anyone let him. Not that Nick had ever seen Monroe’s stamp collection. Not that it hadn’t been on offer, on their very first proper date, actually..

.. the one Nick didn’t realise was a date at the time. They had eaten dinner together many times before, though never at this type of posh Italian restaurant that specialised in fancily named dishes and tables for two. Nick was not the sort to spend big money when eating out, but Monroe insisted it was his treat, so he was quite happily stuffing his face with some award-winning pasta – whereas the clockmaker barely touched his own food. That should have set off all alarm bells, but Nick was too busy telling his friend about that colleague he’d only just discovered was a Genio Innocuo. Monroe listened intently and talked less than usual, not taking his eyes off Nick, really _focusing_ on him. And yet, the detective had no clue, not even when Monroe told him he looked handsome in that dark blue shirt and ordered the most expensive wine, and asked if he wanted to share a dessert. Nick should have known Monroe wouldn’t give up half of his dessert to just anyone. But he was still oblivious when they were walking back to Monroe’s car, oblivious and a little tipsy, he was complaining how difficult it was to find a girl. Well, _finding_ a girl was not a problem, but he wasn’t interested in just a night or two, he wanted someone who’d _understand_ – or, at least, put up with his crazy working hours and all the other things that were crazy.

Nick did not have the foggiest idea – until Monroe pushed him against a wall and kissed him, and then he suddenly had a lot of ideas, all of them foggy. He managed to pull away in righteous indignation, enquiring what the hell that was, to which Monroe responded that he was pretty sure it was _a kiss_ , yes, that was the word he would usually choose, and before Nick had a chance to grumble about his annoying pedantry he was already getting another demonstration. Monroe moved even closer and kissed him again, slowly and sensuously, nudging his mouth open. It blew Nick’s mind to pieces and did things to his body he never knew could be achieved with just a pair of lips on his own lips. It made him forget they were outside, in public, though in a dark and empty back road. It made his hands curl around the taller man’s neck. And when Monroe finally released him and took a step back with that half shy, half playful grin on his face, telling him how long he’d been waiting to do this and asking him if he wanted to come back to his place to ‘see his stamp collection’.. Nick couldn’t help but laugh. From one moment to the next, all of those warm, cosy feelings he’d already held for his friend grew much clearer and _sharper_ and he was nothing but stammering, sweaty infatuation.

It was safe to say he did not sleep in his own bed that night, or _at all_ , Monroe would not allow it, despite Nick’s half-hearted attempts to remind him he had an early shift coming. Monroe’s hands and tongue showed no mercy, keeping him awake, or rather in his overtired, deliriously dream-like state. Nick had forgotten such endless nights existed. When they finally arrived at the clockmaker’s house, in his bedroom – they had to take breaks on the way as it was sheer impossible to keep their lips off each other – but when they finally made it Monroe didn’t go straight for his groin, like it usually went when Nick ended up between the sheets with someone. Monroe lifted him so effortlessly it made Nick feel weightless and placed him onto that huge bed of his, and took all the time in the world to map out Nick’s body with his mouth and his big, warm hands, as if it were in fact a precious and intriguing clockwork and all Monroe had ever wanted from life was to find out what made it tick. As if he had the power to suspend the usual course of hours and minutes and let them drag deliciously like strands of hot, sticky toffee. The detective wasn’t used to this, to being _explored_ like this, he was normally the one doing most of the exploring, but Monroe was like a force of nature and Nick submitted to it without even thinking.

And when he was just about to go crazy Monroe finally started stroking him where he really needed it. It took his breath away, as well as the rest of the doubts he might have still held at that point. Being jerked off wasn’t generally something Nick was _crazy_ about. As a rule, girls didn’t seem to know how to touch a cock. Most of them were too soft, and that was nice and relaxing but kind of beside the point. Some focused on the wrong areas, and that was a bit uncomfortable. And then there was that slightly scary minority who chose the opposite strategy and pulled really hard and fast from beginning ‘til end, as if planning to tear it off or something. Of course, Nick never complained, just steered the proceedings towards the main course. But when Monroe stroked him it was satisfying enough to serve as starter, main _and_ dessert, as good as doing it yourself, but with the significant added bonus of _not_ doing it yourself. Nick was shocked and embarrassed to find that he hardly took any time at all, and was expecting his friend to make some kind of joke, as usual, asking him if he’d been feeling a little desperate lately, the answer to which would have been a resounding yes. But Monroe did nothing of the sort, just smiled and held him and kept kissing him until he recovered, and then Monroe used his talented mouth elsewhere. So it went. Though they did not go all the way that night. But in the very early morning, when the sky was turning that silky, ink blue colour and they were still all over each other – well, then they did.

Neither of them had expected it to happen, Nick’s mind didn’t even _go_ there at first, it just wasn’t something he’d naturally _think_ of. But then Monroe was lying between his legs, sucking on his mouth, lazily, they were both exhausted, yet Nick could feel how hard his friend was, again. He reached down to run his fingers along it, panting as Monroe bit down on his chin, but Nick didn’t want to just do it with his hand again like the last three or five times, he’d lost count, and every time had been a little weird still, but Monroe’s reactions were so captivating and sincere they made it worthwhile. Now that hardness was driving Nick mad, pressing against a sensitive area he never knew was so sensitive. His thoughts were running away with him more and more until all he could do was wonder what it felt like to have all of that hot, stiff cock inside you, to be fucked by Monroe, what the girls and maybe guys Monroe had been with must have felt. Nick still remembered a few passing remarks Angelina had made, she’d probably thought they were subtle, but Angelina didn’t do subtle too well so it was pretty obvious she was complimenting Monroe’s qualities as a lover. The clockmaker had turned bright red at the time and told Angelina to shut it, and Nick had been embarrassed too, saying it was _way_ too much information, and yet those remarks still lingered in his mind. Before that, he’d never thought of his geeky friend as a very sexual person. Well, he’d been wrong, and was craving to find out just _how_ wrong.

Nick spread his legs a little more. He had to be _crazy_ , but his brain was too tired to work in its usual fashion, and it didn’t help that he was so horny still, still very much turned on by his friend. Somehow, the clockmaker seemed to lose all of his amiable, clumsy goofiness in bed and was nothing but confidence, a very different person, and that person was fucking hot. And yet, it was clear Monroe wasn’t even dreaming of going there, he’d obviously assumed Nick wouldn’t want to. It made the look on his face all the more delicious when the detective pulled out of the kiss and stroked his cheek, and asked Monroe to please fuck him. He watched in breathless fascination as the Blutbad’s gaze flared up red, a scalding hot mixture of fear and excitement in his stomach. This bad idea was such a good idea. And when Monroe regained control and squinted at him in surprise, asking if he was sure with those hungry brown eyes of his – Nick simply nodded. He was as sure as he’d ever be about something he had never done before, something that should have felt unnatural to him – giving up the lead. But it was pretty clear that Monroe was wearing the pants when he was, well, _not_ wearing any pants, and to his surprise Nick found that he was okay with that, well, no, not _okay_ , he was thrilled out of his mind.

Thrilled and terrified as Monroe reached into the bedside table to get out lube and a condom, which was when it really hit home that this was _happening_ , but Nick was a brave guy by nature, and by profession, being scared had never, ever stopped him from going through with a plan. He was quite prepared for it to hurt, girls in porn always looked like this hurt _a lot_ , not that Nick had ever done it to a woman, he’d never seen the point. But once it all began Monroe was so careful and gentle there wasn’t much pain, hardly any.

Outside, the sky was paling, it was getting lighter by the second and Nick was looking straight up into his friend’s face as Monroe pushed in a finger. Nick could tell the Blutbad was as excited as himself, which flattered him immensely, since by now he was sure that Monroe had been in this exact same place with a guy before, and not just once, oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. Nick felt another long finger and then Monroe curled them both up inside him, as if asking him to come close, though Nick was pretty close already, closer than he’d ever felt to another person. At first it was all about this heartwarming intimacy, Monroe’s fingers caressing him and teaching him to relax, to stop clutching them so hard. The physical side of it was not so straightforward at first, Nick wasn’t sure how much he was actually going to enjoy this, until Monroe found a spot inside him that turned his body into a bunch of rainbow-coloured Christmas lights. Nick gasped and clenched his eyes, and when he was looking again Monroe had this big grin on his face. On anyone else that would have been smug, but the clockmaker appeared genuinely happy, and once he found that spot, he wouldn’t let go of it, playing with it as he prepared himself with his other hand. Nick watched him, as much as he could keep his eyes open and focused, God it was huge, this was never going to work, he was already shaking just from Monroe’s fingers sliding in and out of him. He had now idea how his body could be so responsive still, but this was like a whole new menu of sensations, like when sometimes you feel full and content after a good meal but there’s still ample space for dessert.

Though Nick really wasn’t sure if there was _enough_ space, but he did not get to worry about it for any significant amount of time as Monroe removed his fingers and stretched out on top of him once again. Their noses touched and Nick’s breathing was all over the place, he hoped he wasn’t looking too much like a deer in the headlights, and that Monroe could see he really wanted this, even if he had no clue what he was doing. But, of course, Monroe could tell, he knew Nick better than anyone, even Hank, or his own mother, yes, _definitely_ better than his own mother, and now he would truly get to know him inside out. The clockmaker did not ask any awkward questions, just told him he’d go slow and that Nick should stop him if it got too much. Then he placed a hand on his hip and pressed inside. The first bit was the hardest part, the head of Monroe’s cock was really thick and firm against Nick’s ring muscle and instinctively the detective pulled him down by his neck and crushed their lips together hard enough to stifle all the embarrassing noises in his throat. He made Monroe kiss him through it as he adjusted to every inch stretching him slowly and carefully, and every time he thought he could take no more Monroe paused and nipped his neck, telling him how _amazing_ he was, like being with Nick was the best thing in the world, heck, the whole universe, ever.

And when he was all the way in Monroe held still, brushing the young man’s lips to ask if this was alright, and even though it was a mere whisper the Blutbad’s voice was dark and thick with lust. Nick only mustered a little whimper in response, there were many words for this, not that he could think of any right now, but he was pretty sure that ‘alright’ wasn’t one of them. Monroe had taken full control of his body with that massive, throbbing hot cock of his and started moving it inside him with tiny little twitches of his hips that radiated through Nick’s entire frame. He was trembling and gasping and Monroe caught and bit his lips every time, as if intending to suck all of those involuntary moans from his mouth, even though they were sounds of helpless astonishment rather than anything else.

Which changed pretty quickly when Monroe seemed to decide that Nick was ready for more and leaned away, pushing himself up on one arm and offering a welcome view of his sturdy yet perfectly toned upper body. Maybe Nick shouldn’t have made fun of him for favouring a girly sport like Pilates. The Blutbad gave a surprisingly predatory smile, lifting the detective’s hips to align them with his own, and that was when the pleasure truly hit Nick with all the impact of a steam train, though the nerdy Monroe would have disagreed with that overly simple metaphor and asked him to please clarify _what type_. But the hot, sexy Monroe didn’t give a damn, that Monroe was watching him hungrily, adjusting the angle until he rediscovered that dazzling, electric spot inside him. Then he pounded it mercilessly. Nick didn’t even know which way to turn, sobbing and squirming about on the sweat-soaked sheets, one part of him was trying to get away as this was just too intense, so dizzying it almost almost made him want to throw up, but another, more prominent part of him was arching up to meet those thrusts and use them to maximum effect as they were coming faster and harder, turning his body into soft plasticine in Monroe’s hands. But all of that was nothing compared to what the shameless expression on Monroe’s face did to him, what Monroe’s mouth did to him, having moved on from sweet talk and telling him how fucking tight he was, how much Monroe loved fucking his tight hole and that he would fuck him so long and hard Nick wouldn’t be able to walk for a week, and other promises that were so dirty and embarrassing the Grimm wanted to cover his ears, and at the same time they were the single most arousing thing he’d ever heard. His brain was already overloading and when he could barely keep it together anymore Monroe released his hips and wrapped a hand around his cock, which actually played a surprisingly minor role when Nick’s body surged with heat head to toe and every cell, every single nerve ending in his system exploded with pleasure. Monroe must have come shortly after but Nick had no conscious recollection of it, his mind remained positively blown for what felt like a blissful eternity. After that, Monroe had finally allowed him to sleep..

.. and now Nick was feeling as if he hadn’t slept for years, but without the whole happy, hyperactive buzz of it. His mind was pressing down onto his eyelids, dark and heavy, and all he wanted to do was lie down and wake up the next morning to find that things were back to normal.

“Hey..”, he moved his hand to caress the curls at the back of Monroe’s head, surprised by the tenderness in his own voice. At least he didn’t sound like he was interrogating a suspect. “.. is this, like, a Blutbad thing, ‘Roe? I mean, your woge, and.. the memory issue? Can you tell me about it?”

Monroe let his head slide deeper in between his forearms, clawing fingers into thick hair.

“Can’t think of anything”, he muttered and the detective wasn’t sure if he meant that he didn’t know the answer – or if he literally couldn’t think of _anything_.

“Alright, don’t worry.” Clearly, Nick had to be the one doing the thinking here. “Remember I told you about Doctor Tenma?”

“Your Japanese colleague, right?” Monroe sounded relieved he remembered. “The Genio Innocuo guy?”

“Yeah, him. I’ll call him. He should have a look at you, you know?”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s our expert on psychological trauma, plus he’s Wesen, so mayb-“

“I don’t need a shrink!”

Suddenly, _the other_ Monroe was growling at him once again, baring his fangs.

A blink of an eye later, _his_ Monroe was slamming his forehead into his fists, shaking.

“Sorrysorrysorry..”

Still, Nick recoiled, physically and emotionally, pulling his hand away.

“I’m starting to think you do. This isn’t you, Monroe, this horrible behaviour, it’s not _you_.”

“You know nothing about me!” The other Monroe snarled. It hurt Nick even deeper knowing there was some truth in it.

“No!” His Monroe whined. “I don’t want this, Nick, whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it, I swear!”

The detective felt as if someone had tied a bunch of thick ropes around his chest and tightened them all at once. He was absurdly grateful when his phone rang and he said sorry, but he needed to pick this one up. Without the distraction, he might have started going crazy himself.

“Hank?”

“Hey Buddy”, came his partners comfortingly familiar voice down the line. “How are you holding up?”

Hank sounded apologetic and a little worried. They’d spoken briefly this morning, he knew Nick needed some time off to take care of Monroe. What Hank didn’t know was how much care Monroe actually required. Nick was hoping to keep it that way.

“Alright”, he lied, getting up and taking a few steps through the lounge, “I guess, given the circumstances.”

“Good”, Hank said. “Good. Look. I’m really sorry to bother you with this man, but did you accidentally take the Summers file home with you?”

“Oh.. shit”, Nick slapped himself on the forehead. “Yeah. Must have left it in my car.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just drop by and -“

“ _No_!” It came out way too rushed and panicked. “No, look, it’s a complete mess over here.” This time, Nick didn’t even have to lie. “I’ll bring it round.”

“Wait, are you sure -"

“Yeah, sure, see you in twenty.”

Nick hung up before Hank had a chance to ask any unwelcome questions. He peered over at Monroe who was gazing back, an unexpectedly needy look on his face.

“You’re going away?”

He seemed to have gotten himself together a little. His face had stopped bubbling uncontrollably as it was trying to decide what shape to take on. Nick had watched him taking deep, deliberate breaths while he was on the phone to Hank. It reminded him that Monroe had missed out on his Pilates session this morning. And that, in turn, brought something else to mind.

“Listen”, he tried to put it as diplomatically as he could. “I suppose you haven’t taken your tablets last night.. wanna take them now? Will that help?”

They’d never spoken about it before but once they started living together Nick did notice that Monroe was taking some kind of medicine every evening. Yet the Blutbad was healthy as a, well, _horse_ seemed like the wrong analogy here, but anyway, it was clear those had to be the ‘drugs’ he mentioned when they first met, the ones that suppressed the less desirable parts of his nature and helped him stay good. Nick had never asked Monroe about them, and why would he? Just because they were seeing each other and he was a cop didn’t mean he had to stick his nose into what was obviously Monroe’s private business. The clockmaker was quite a bit older than himself, he didn’t need Nick watching over him. That’s what Nick had always assumed.

But now things were starting to appear in a different light as Monroe shook his head and murmured:

“I’ve run out..”

“Oh.” Nick squinted at him in surprise and the clockmaker looked down, embarrassed. “When?”

“About a week ago..”

“You didn’t get a new batch?”

“Had too much to do..”

That was true, the autumn months running up to Christmas were Monroe’s busiest. People were retrieving their broken heirloom watches from their attics and needed them to be turned into presents; dozens of grandfather clocks in dozens of living rooms had to be refurbished in time for the festivities; even the huge clocks on top of churches and town halls needed to be checked over and readied for their New Year’s Eve countdown. Monroe worked hard in those months so he could take the second half of December off and play with the Märklin to his heart’s content. Still, it was no excuse.

“I was fine.. I didn’t think that.. all this time, I’ve been.. _fine_..”

Well, you’re not fine _now_ , Nick thought, but what he said was:

“I’ll get you some on the way back.”

“Don’t go..”, Monroe whispered, still looking down to the floor, and it tied Nick’s heart into a knot. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him like this, yet he had his duties, he knew Hank really needed that file and he wouldn’t let his partner down. Hank was probably really pissed at him already, having had to drive everywhere with Wu. By now, Wu had probably given him a detailed account of all the home made dinners he’d cooked for his cats this week..

The detective knelt by the sofa, taking Monroe’s face in his hands. He didn’t feel completely at ease touching him, and still, he was craving to, he needed Monroe to feel him close.

“I’m sorry, I have to. Hank needs something from me. I won’t be long.”

 The Blutbad raised his eyes at him, warily, like a barely tamed animal.

“Upstairs should be ready by now.. go take your bath, and before you know it I’ll be back, okay? You won’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, okay?”

There was a cautious nod.

“.. okay.”

“Promise?”

“.. I promise.”

“Alright.” Nick got to his feet, stretching out a hand. “Give me your key.”

“Huh?”

“Your key. I’ll have to lock you in. I’m sorry, ‘Roe.”

The clockmaker stared at him in shock and Nick thought he would snap and resist, but after a few moments of hesitation he reached into his pocket and handed it over.

“You’re right. Take it.”

Nick took the key and told Monroe he would see him soon, then went upstairs to lock all the windows, and back downstairs to give the patio doors the same treatment before stepping outside, locking the door behind him. He now had a whole pocketful of keys and felt awful about it. He was telling himself he needed to protect Monroe, but deep down he also knew he needed to protect Portland _from_ Monroe. He had no idea what the Blutbad was capable of in this strange, unhinged state. He’d never seen anything like it before, but the fact that Monroe would attack _him_ did not bode well.

Nick got the portable siren out of the boot and stuck it onto the roof of his car. Yeah, he really wasn’t supposed to do that when off duty, but he needed to get there and back as quickly as he could. He kept dialing Rosalee’s number on the way to the precinct but all he was getting was the damn mailbox. Finally, he gave up and called Hank who said he was down in the canteen, so that’s where Nick met him. The place was nearly empty by now, it was gone five o’clock, so a lot of the supporting staff had left, and whoever was involved in an urgent investigation was probably bent over their desks, scanning profiles and whatnot. Hank was stood at the far end of the hall, pouring himself a coffee from the machine, so Nick walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh hey! How did you get here so quickly?”

The Grimm shrugged and decided not to elaborate on his MO.

“How’s it going over here?”

“Don’t worry, man, I’m keeping Portland going in your absence.”

Nick gave a forced chuckle.

“Good. Here. I’d completely forgotten about it.”

“It’s fine, buddy, you’ve got other things on your mind”, Hank took the file, looking at it briefly. “Speaking of which, how’s Monroe?”

“Well.. not great”, Nick admitted, “so I need to get back straight away, I’m sorry. See you later.”

He was about to turn around and leave when his partner stopped him.

“Nick, did you get into a fight or something? Wesen related?”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t have that when I last saw you”, Hank pointed to his own cheek, then Nick’s face – that was starting to turn bright red. He didn’t even realise Monroe had left a mark. He should have known, he bruised so easily. Which in his line of work was really annoying.

“It’s nothing”, he made another attempt at escaping, but this time Hank stopped him with a hand on his elbow. Instantly, Nick regretted saying something stupid like that instead of just inventing some believable story to feed to Hank. He wasn’t a bad liar, but somehow he’d been getting more and more unhinged himself as this awful day went on.

“Why can’t you tell me?” Hank questioned him, suspiciously. And then, with a sudden mixture of realisation and disbelief: “ _.. Monroe_?”

Nick forcefully pulled out of his partner’s grasp and said nothing. His partner was a clever guy.

“Monroe hit you?!” Hank’s tone was growing increasingly angry – and so was Nick. “I can’t believe it! Monroe! What for? How did this happen?”

“It was a misunderstanding, alright?”

“A _misunderstanding_?”

“He didn’t mean it! He’s in a really bad place right now!”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this, Nick!”

“What’s your fucking problem?!”

“My _problem_? That’s _exactly_ what we’ve been hearing in every single case of domestic abuse we’ve ever come across, remember? You’re the one who always said you don’t get these women, why they protect the guys.”

“I’m not a woman!” Nick snapped.

“That doesn’t matter! Has he done this to you before?”

“What? No! Of course not! It’s not like _this_. It’s..”

He really wanted to tell Hank, to share his worries with his partner, like he usually would, but it just felt awkward talking about Monroe, at least in Monroe’s capacity as his boyfriend. Hank had never quite gotten their relationship. Not that he didn’t respect Monroe per se, but it still took him quite a while to get used to the fact that Nick was dating him. At first, he seemed to think it was some kind of premature – and seriously misguided – midlife crisis, Nick jumping into bed with a guy, and a Wesen at that. He had that concerned and mildly sympathetic look on his face when he reminded Nick that, true, a cop’s life could be lonely at times, Hank knew everything about it, but still, given his looks, Nick shouldn’t have to resort to desperate measures like that. For a while it even affected them working together, the Grimm kept catching Hank throwing him cautious, investigative glances, as if looking for hidden signs of gayness he must have missed before. Nick chose to ignore it though and carried on as usual, because he knew Hank would come around eventually. And true, after a couple of weeks Hank seemed to finally realise that no, Nick had not undergone some sort of radical personality change, and no, he wasn’t going to start wearing black leather hot pants to work, or _at all_ , and no, he wasn’t checking out Hank’s arse on the sly. So things went back to normal, well, mostly. There had been a couple of awkward moments still. Once Hank was staring after a pretty girl and was about to start gushing to Nick – when he cut himself off and apologised, at which point Nick rolled his eyes and noted that yes, they could still talk about girls, and she was hot, he hadn’t gone _blind_ , and by the way, he wasn’t gay, he was _bi_ , as was Monroe, but that was way too much for poor Hank to process. So Nick tried to keep his private life with Monroe exactly that, private.

And now he was less keen to discuss their relationship than ever before. He gave his partner a meaningful look, a look that told him to back off, in the friendliest possible terms. Thankfully, Hank understood, raising his hands in a ‘hey man, it’s your life’ kind of gesture.

“Well, Nick, if I can help with anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, I appreciate.”

And with that he was finally allowed to go, though Hank’s words stuck with him and kept spinning around his head as he drove. Was he wrong, should he have listened to his self-respect and left? But how could he, when it was so obvious that Monroe needed help! Nick just had to work out _what kind_ _of help_ , how to solve this, everything could be solved, somehow, with the right combination of brains and dedication, not by running. He’d find a way to make Monroe go back to normal, he _needed_ Monroe to go back to normal, maybe not for entirely altruistic reasons. If the tablets didn’t work then there had to be some kind of potion Rosalee could make. Nick dialed her once again, in vain.

“Damn you, Rosalee!” He shouted over the Fuchsbau’s pleasant voice asking him to leave a message. “Where the hell are you? I _need_ you!”

He stopped by the Spice Shop on the way home but the sign on the door confirmed it was closed. Nick still banged against it in sheer frustration. So much for Rosalee being there for him! He had no one else to turn to, and driving all the way to the trailer to consult his books was not an option. Maybe the Captain would know something, but Nick wasn’t going to resort to that. He was still unsure which side Renard was on – if any.    

He got back into the car and drove to what didn’t quite feel like home right now. Dark, dead windows were greeting him once again in some kind of fucked up déjà vu. Yet Monroe wasn’t sat in the lounge this time. Nor was he in any of the adjacent rooms. Upstairs, the windows were still locked – and intact. The bath was empty. Nick was inspecting it when he heard a noise from below.

“Monroe? That you?”

No response. Nick rushed into the bedroom and pulled out his underwear drawer. He stared at the mess of socks and boxers. He rummaged through it. Monroe was the only person who knew where he kept his gun. The fact it was gone meant those weren’t intruders downstairs. Just his boyfriend playing some stupid game with him.

“Monroe, what the hell’s that!”

Lounge.

“Where’s my gun?”

Dining room.

“Come out now!”

Kitchen. The ground floor had a circular layout. Nick tiptoed through the hallway and back into the lounge. He heard it clearly, light steps on the other side of the wall. A low growl. His Grimm senses told him he was being watched. Not by a pair of eyes. But by a predator’s other senses. The Blutbad could smell the sweat on the back of his neck. Hear him breathe. Predict his every move.

“Stop it, Monroe!”

Nick turned on his heels and dashed into the opposite direction, hallway, kitchen, dining room.. When he was back in the lounge he stopped himself. He would not play hide and seek, he would not be _hunted_ around his own house!

“You _promised_..”

He shouldn't have left him alone, he shouldn't have ever -

Nick’s phone rang, again. A surge of relief washed over him when he saw the name on the screen.

“Rosalee! Where’ve you been, I’ve been calling..”

“Nick.”

Just the way she said his name made all of that initial relief evaporate.

“You need to come here straight away, bring Monroe, if you can..”

“What? What did you find out?”

“I.. really hope it’s not what I think.”

It felt like an icy hand closing around Nick’s throat.

“Please tell me..”

“Can you come over? We need -“

Nick did not get to find out what they needed. He was brutally tackled to the floor with all of Monroe’s weight on top of his back, almost cutting off his air.

“That whore again?”, the Blutbad hissed, wrestling the phone out of his hand. Nick caught a last earful of Rosalee exclaiming his name before the device was flung against a wall with so much force it shattered into pieces.

“I’m gonna teach you..”

Monroe’s breath was hot in his ear. Through the panic clouding his mind Nick noticed that the Blutbad was naked, and even though he’d obviously washed there was still that strange animal smell about him.

“.. teach you who you belong to.. Grimm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I'm really sorry it's taking me ages to update. Please stay tuned. I WILL continue this story at some point! I've got the whole plot planned out on paper, but this fic is difficult to write, so it's taking ages.. DX
> 
> Please leave a comment - comments are the author's bacon sandwich :D.
> 
> I hope the flashback in this chapter doesn't feel too random. I'm kind of trying to integrate this story with a separate "Nickroe origins" story that I had in mind. There will be more flashbacks in the next chapters.
> 
> In the next chapter everything will escalate and shit will really hit the fan, we will finally find out what's wrong with Monroe and Nick will have to make a tough decision.. and it will (hopefully) become clearer why I called this story "the line".
> 
> P.S.: There are references to my favourite manga AND my favourite tv series in this chapter. Cookies if you recognise them both :).


End file.
